


Control

by beckalina



Category: Damon/Affleck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckalina/pseuds/beckalina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I like to teach you all the rules. I'd get to see them set in stone. I like it when you chain me to the bed...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 1/7/2002

The windows are dark when your cab pulls up. He'd said that he couldn't pick you up at the airport--that there were things he had to get done. But you know that he's expecting you. He should be there, and you're unnerved by the fact that the lights are off.

You pay the driver, take your bags from the trunk. Walking up to the front of the house, you see no sign of movement from within. You begin to wonder if he forgot the time of your arrival, or if he changed his mind and is waiting for you at the airport.

You use your key to open the door. It's silent, a heavy type of silence that seems almost palpable. The door closes behind you and you set your luggage down, looking around yourself in bewilderment. It's incredibly dark, and the only sounds you can hear are your own breathing and the echo made by your keys as they hit the wooden table next to the door.

"Ben?" You call, upper brow furrowed in confusion. "Ben? Where the fuck are you?"

Suddenly, he's there. You can feel him behind you, and you take a deep breath laced with his heady cologne. You try to turn--you want to see him face to face--but a hand on your arm stops you.

"Stay still, Matt," he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The seductive tone of his voice, the warmth of his body pressed against your back. Your heart begins to beat rapidly.

"Ben? What the fuck are you-" And that's when you feel it, the soft whisper of satin sliding over your skin.

"Trust me," he murmurs, his lips traveling across your neck. The fabric over your eyes tightens as he ties it behind your head.

"You know that I do," you reply. A smile curves your lips--you love this game.

One hand holding yours, the other wrapped around your waist, he leads you up the stairs to the bedroom. And then your back is against the wall, your palms flat against it. You've been told to stay still again, and you're obeying--for now. His hands move up your body, under your shirt. He runs them over your chest, pulling the shirt up as he moves.

"Raise your arms," he whispers.

You follow his soft-spoken command and your shirt lands on the floor next to you, already forgotten. You can feel him leaning closer, and a warm tongue trails across your pecs, pausing to teasingly flick against a nipple.

You bite back a moan, your teeth pressed so hard against your bottom lip that you soon taste the metallic tang of your blood. But you know the rules of this game--and you're not quite ready to start breaking them.

His hands are back on your skin, sliding down your torso to the waistband of your jeans. A few fingers slip between the denim and your skin, coming teasingly, achingly close to where you want them to be.

"Please." The plea leaves your lips before you can stop it, and the warmth of his hands leaves you as he steps back.

"What was that?" You can hear the smile in his voice, the triumph.

"Nothing." You're clenching your hands into fists so tightly, you can feel your short nails biting into the skin of your palms.

"That's what I thought."

His hands are back. They're undoing the fly of your jeans, the zipper is moving tooth by tooth. His fingers brush against the soft cotton of your boxers and you swallow thickly. Your back is tight against the wall, arching as the jeans fall to the floor and his hand slips through the flap on your boxers.

He likes to make you beg, he likes it when you scream his name and plead with him to let you come or fuck you or for God's sake do something because you're dying and you can't take it any longer. You like it too.

Your pants and boxers lay forgotten with your shirt as he pulls you towards the bed. You're laying down, soft silk against your back. He's tying your arms to the bedposts, black satin ties binding you to the hard oak.

You love the way the satin feels against your wrists, the way it's tight, but not too tight. You still wish that you could see. He's moving around the bed and you don't know what he's doing or what he has planned for you. Finally, his weight settles at the foot of the bed.

You feel his lips pressing against your calf. You're biting your own lips again, because his mouth is moving and you know its destination. He's taking his time, his teeth leaving small marks on your inner thigh. You're so fucking hard and this is killing you--but you still love it.

Your back arches when his mouth finally closes over your cock. You wrists are straining at their bindings--but not too much, you don't want them to come loose and ruin this game. His tongue is licking slowly up and down the shaft, and a scream is burning in your lungs.

You're almost there when he stops and pulls away. The scream you've been holding back releases - a scream of frustration instead of the scream of passion it began as. This isn't fucking fair.

"God damn it! You mother fucker! Just fucking let me come!" You know you shouldn't say a word, because it's exactly what he wants, but you just can't fucking help it.

His mouth is on you again before you can blink. He's laughing now, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pure fucking pleasure through your body. You're tensing and your lip is bleeding between your teeth again.

And then he pulls away again. You want to cry. His weight leaves the bed, you can hear him rummaging around in the top drawer of his dresser. You smile, because you know what's next.

The lube made his fingers cold, that's the only thing you can concentrate on as the first one slips inside of you. Then he adds a second and the very tips of the two fingers press against that spot. When he adds the third he starts to fuck you with his fingers, slowly at first and then gradually increasing in speed. Moans and expletives tumble from your lips.

The foil packet from the condom tears open with a small sound, and in your mind's eye you can see him slipping it over his erection and coating himself with lube. His body is above yours now, you can feel his arms on either side of your head. An excruciating pause follows and fuck if you aren't ready to kill the bastard.

"Jesus Christ, Ben! Just fuck me already!"

Your hips are thrusting in the air, almost involuntarily. You want it so fucking bad and you're so God damned hard and why does he have to be such a fucking prick? He knows exactly what he's doing to you, knows how torturous this is for you. He just wants to make you beg for it, beg for him to fuck you.

"Fuck. Me. Now."

You can't breathe when he finally pushes inside. Your back arches off of the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist. He's rocking against your body, as roughly as he can without hurting you--no matter how much you two may get into the game, he would never forgive himself if he ever caused you harm.

You've lost all ability to think. A string of expletives interspersed with his name is all that runs through your mind and out of your lips. He's only bracing himself with one hand now, the other is between your bodies, stroking your cock in time with his thrusts.

This is the only part of the game you hate. You like to touch him when you come, run your hands over the muscles in his back and chest. You can't do that when your arms are bound to the bed.

You're tensing, and this time he doesn't stop. His hand starts to move faster, his short fingernails scraping lightly across the sensitive skin. You scream when you come, a feral roar that's been boiling in your chest from the moment you walked into the door.

He's close now, and he concentrates on his thrusts, making each harder and deeper than the one before it. His hand whips off the blindfold and you blink rapidly in the dim light of the room. Then you can see his eyes, the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

He captures your lips, his tongue sliding against yours as his body tenses. One last thrust and he's moaning into your mouth, his hips jerking against your own. He thrusts a few more times, pulling out with a content sigh.

The condom is discarded in the trashcan next to the bed, and he collapses next to you, his head on your chest.

"Love you, Matt." He murmurs before his eyes close.

"Um. Ben? I love you too, but do you think you could untie me before you fall asleep?" If you weren't so fucking exhausted, you would laugh.

"Oh, right."

The silk ties are undone and you stretch your arms. The straining left red marks on your wrists, but they'll be gone by morning. You kiss him again, flicking your tongue across his teeth. Then you settle into the bed, his arms tight around you, and close your eyes.

You really love that game.


End file.
